"Oh, don't be afraid"--drawing herself up haughtily--"I am not going to be _quite_ a fool. I shall not throw myself into his arms. I am simply going to apologise for cutting him on Cup Day. I am simply going to set myself right with him before I go away--for his father's sake." "It is a risky experiment, my dear, whichever way you look at it. I think you had better write." "No. I have no faith in writing. You cannot make a letter say what you mean. And he will not come to us--he will not share his father's friendship for Kingscote--he was not at home when you and Kingscote called on him--he was not even at Mrs. Aarons's on Friday. There is no way to get at him but to go and see him now. I hear him in his room, and he is alone. I will not trouble him long--I will let him see that I can do without him quite as well as he can do without me--but I must and will explain the horrible mistake that I know he has fallen into about me, before I lose the chance for the rest of my life." "My dear, how can you? How can you tell him your true reason for cutting him? How can you do it at all, without implying more than you would like to imply? You had better leave it, Patty. Or let me go for you, my darling." But Patty insisted upon going herself, conscientiously assuring her sister that she would do it in ten minutes, without saying anything improper about Mrs. Aarons, and without giving the young man the smallest reason to suppose that she cared for him any more than she cared for his father, or was in the least degree desirous of being cared for by him. And this was how she did it. Paul was sitting at his table, with papers strewn before him. He had been writing since his mid-day breakfast, and was half way through a brilliant article on "Patronage in the Railway Department," when the sound of the piano next door, heard for the first time after a long interval, scattered his political ideas and set him dreaming and meditating for the rest of the afternoon. He was leaning back in his chair, with his pipe in his mouth, his hands in his pockets, and his legs stretched out rigidly under the table, when he heard a tap at the door. He said "Come in," listlessly, expecting Betsy's familiar face; and when, instead of an uninteresting housemaid, he saw the beautiful form of his beloved standing on the threshold, he was so stunned with astonishment that at first he could not speak. "Miss--Miss Yelverton!" he exclaimed, flinging his pipe aside and struggling to his feet. "I hope I am not disturbing you," said Patty, very stiffly. "I have only come for a moment--because we are going away, and--and--and I had something to say to you before we went. We have been so unfortunate--my sister and brother-in-law were so unfortunate--as to miss seeing you the other day. I--we have come this afternoon to do some packing, because we are giving up our old rooms, and I thought--I thought--"